


keep yourself warm

by ofscythia



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Nightmares, Pre-Canon, Sharing Body Heat, immortal puppy pile for the win, it's cold so we gotta cuddle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 10:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25847923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofscythia/pseuds/ofscythia
Summary: “Sebastien?”A tired voice calls out, jolting him from his thoughts. Yusuf is awake, blinking blearily at him from behind a still-slumbering Nicolo’s shoulder. His curly hair is mussed from sleep, his words misting in the cold air of the room.“Are you well, mon ami?”
Comments: 28
Kudos: 303





	keep yourself warm

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for stories about Booker becoming part of the family and with the idea of sleeping with your friends in a pile on the floor. 
> 
> I'm new to fic writing - comments are much appreciated!
> 
> I'm @oldguarding on tumblr - shoot me a fic request!

Sebastien dreams of a blank, white expanse of snow. It stretches out as far as his eyes can see, with more falling in flurries from the sky. It is utterly silent and he is utterly alone, struggling to walk through knee-deep and getting deeper drifts of snow. He's back in his imperial uniform, a too-thin coat that does nothing to protect him from the harsh wind that blows flurries of snow into his face.

It feels like he's been walking for miles and when Sebastien looks down at his feet, he sees that he's barefoot, leaving bloody footprints behind him as he trudges on. But as he walks the snow continues to pile up around him, enveloping his legs until he's no longer able to move.

Stuck in place, Sebastien begins to try and dig his legs out. His hands, turned white by the cold and numb to any sensation, are useless. As the snow rises up his hips and begins to cover his chest, Sebastien panics. He thrashes and jerks and fights to free himself from the icy grip of the snow. It all proves useless as the snow creeps over his chest and up his neck, Sebastien can do nothing but sob. His tears freeze to his face and the wind burns the exposed skin of his cheeks and nose.

He jolts awake with a choked yell just before the snow fills his mouth.

It takes him a few moments to settle, to remember that he’s had this dream before and is miles away and an entire lifetime removed from that hellish march through Russia. Instead, he’s somewhere in Prussia with the three strange immortals who had cut him down from the gallows and welcomed him into their lives, shivering awake from a nightmare.

Sebastien isn’t quite sure yet which plight he would prefer.

Now awake and fully aware of just how real the cold he feels is, Sebastien pulls his knees up against his chest and pants warm breath against his hands. He had done this during his time in the war, after sleepless nights or long marches that left his extremities numb and frosted over with ice.

It brings his mind back to his time with Napoleon; men snapping off blackened fingers and toes as they pulled off boots and gloves, dying noses and ears snaking poisoned blood through faces, the constant, bone-deep ache of limbs improperly covered from the elements. Priests tell their congregations that Hell is hot, but Sebastien and his fellow soldiers had learned on that campaign that it was frozen instead.

He stares with envy at his three companions, all still soundly asleep. Andromache is gone to the world, sleeping flat on her stomach with one hand curled loosely around the handle of her axe. Nestled against her side is Nicoló, his face tucked against her arm. Plastered to his back is Yusuf, whose arms are wrapped tightly around Nicoló’s chest.

Sebastien envies their comfort with one another, the ease and intimacy that they share. The modest, one-room cabin they’ve stayed in the past two nights does nothing to keep out the chill of a Prussian winter and with no dry firewood available to them, the only source of warmth available is each other.

Call it modesty or shame or childish embarrassment but Sebastien could not bring himself to lie so closely with these people he had only known a few years, instead sleeping with his back against a wall and his head pillowed on his coat.

It had brought him two nights of ill sleep and even iller dreams; Sebastien had already resigned himself to poor rest until the four of them left Prussia to continue their journey south towards the Mediterranean Sea.

Perhaps once they had fled the reach of winter his dreams will cease-

“ _Sebastien_?”

A tired voice calls out, jolting him from his thoughts. Yusuf is awake, blinking blearily at him from behind a still-slumbering Nicolo’s shoulder. His curly hair is mussed from sleep, his words misting in the cold air of the room.

“Are you well, _mon ami_?”

Shame sparks hot and sudden in his cheeks, his tongue suddenly thick with unexpressed words. “Yes, yes.” He assures the other man, very eager to not have this conversation. “Just…struggling to sleep.”

Yusuf watches him a moment and Sebastien feels pinned by the attention. There’s very little that he misses - Yusuf’s artist eye capturing everything from the crinkle of a face in laughter to the way shadow plays against a wall. Sebastien feels certain that his exhaustion, his fear, his shame, and his shivering are all easy for the man to read. 

After a while Yusuf offers him a sympathetic smile, unwinding his arms from around Nicoló and nudging the man until he rouses. Nicoló wakes with a quiet groan, muttering something in Italian. Yusuf ducks his head down to press a kiss to the man’s cheek and whispers something in his ear. Nicoló grunts in what sounds like agreement and sits up, stretching his arms with a lazy roll of his shoulders before beckoning Sebastien over.

“Come, come.” Nicoló says, shifting back so that there’s a space for Sebastien to rest in. “I promise we will not bite.”

“Not unless you think that would help you sleep.” Yusuf offers, a cheeky grin on his face as he settles back into his normal place against Nicoló back.

It’s a kind offer, but Sebastien has no idea how he could possible accept it. He starts to mumble some argument about why that isn't necessary, that he's perfectly comfortable sleeping where he has been the past days, but is interrupted before he can get very far.

“Either shut up and come over here or I’ll snap your neck and move you myself.”

Sebastien is startled to hear Andromache’s voice; he hadn’t even realized that she was awake. She’s not moved from her position on her stomach, but he catches the steely glint of her blue eye as she glares at him. He also knows that she means what she says and obliges, awkwardly tucking himself into the group with his back to Nicoló and facing Andromache.

Nicoló mutters a wish for him to sleep well and Yusuf grunts, and then the three of them fall almost immediately back to sleep, leaving Sebastien tense and awake as he tries his best to not touch anyone. But even without direct contact, he’s much warmer now than he ever was sleeping against the wall. Sebastien is still doubtful that he'll be able to sleep - his dreams usually prevent him from getting any more rest once they wake him, but the gentle rhythm of everyone’s breathing eventually lulls him into relaxation.

In this half-awake state, warm and surprisingly at-ease, Sebastien doesn't protest when Andromache turns over in her sleep and presses herself fully against his side, one arm draping protectively over his own. 

Instead, he burrows in closer to her heat and sleeps.


End file.
